


Then How Do We Get Out?

by umathurman



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Domestic Violence, Kent "Parse" Parson Needs a Hug, M/M, NHL Trade(s), Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:02:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29284224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umathurman/pseuds/umathurman
Summary: Kent's life is upended when he's traded to the Providence Falconers. It's hard enough being a sub in a mostly-dominant league, let alone suddenly being teammates with his ex. Then there's his longterm boyfriend and dominant. Forced to go long distance, Kent finds himself questioning things about their relationship that he'd always taken for granted. A fresh start might be just what he needs-- if he can get out of his own way.
Relationships: Kent "Parse" Parson/Other(s), Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 7
Kudos: 38





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> **This fic deals with domestic violence, including rape. This starts when the victim is underage. There will be many references to this, and there is on-screen abuse at several moments during this fic. Please be aware that every chapter is likely to include this content to some degree or another.**
> 
> Welp, here we are. This is the longest, most self-indulgent fic I've ever written. It is still a WIP, and while I currently feel positively about finishing it, I can't make any promises. I'm about 40k in now, but most of it is still in serious need of revision, plus there's probably about another 20k to go. I wanted to put the first little bit of this fic out into the world, mostly to encourage myself to keep plugging away at it.
> 
> I do have an endgame relationship in mind for this universe, but it's unlikely to be a particular focus of this fic, which is intended to be focused mostly on Kent's personal journey.

“You’re pretty, huh?” the guy whispered, stroking his hand through Kent’s hair. 

Kent let out an appreciative noise, but didn’t respond. He didn’t think he could. Between the pounding bass, the strobe lights, the joint he’d smoked outside, and the shots the man had bought him, the world felt distant and dim. He was content to kneel. He liked kneeling, even if it was better when it was Jack.

The thought slid away without conscious effort on his part, his brain shying away from the jagged edges of grief lurking beneath the surface. 

“How did you sneak past the bouncers, baby?” the dom asked. “You look what, eighteen, nineteen?”

Kent stared up at him, blinking slowly as his sluggish mind worked to process the question. Suddenly the man’s hand was pulling at his hair, providing a bright point of pain to sharpen Kent’s focus. 

“Answer the question.” It was an order.

“I turn eighteen next week,” Kent gasped, before he could get his wits about him to lie.

It wasn’t exactly polite, to give out commands to a sub before you’d started negotiations, but then again Kent was already on his knees and nobody wanted to get hit with a statutory rape charge. The disappointment was dull through the haze of intoxication, but it was there. He didn’t want to go home alone. Maybe the dom would be annoyed enough by the near miss to at least tell him off, give him a memory of authority to cling to for the rest of the night. 

But instead of anger or disappointment, the dom’s eyes sharpened with another emotion that Kent was too slow to identify. 

“Good boy,” he said, and the bitter pool of despair in the pit of Kent’s stomach eased a bit. He could do this, he could be good for someone, at least. “Get your things, we’re leaving.”

Kent stumbled getting to his feet, but steadied himself on the table as he started looking around for coat check. There were a few people staring at him. He realized blearily that he hadn’t seen anyone else on their knees-- maybe this club wasn’t quite as seedy as he’d thought, if people were side-eying a sub kneeling publically for an obvious stranger.

A pretty girl caught his arm as he walked past, the studded leather cuffs on her wrists catching the lights. “Hey, are you okay? You want to hang out with us for a bit instead?” 

He stared at her for a long minute. No one had asked him if he was okay, not in a long time. Not even after he’d found his boyfriend dead on the bathroom floor. For a moment, he wanted to stay and talk with her. She looked like the sort of person who would let him cry on her shoulder, who would rub his back and tell him it would all be okay.

(That had been all that he’d wanted from Alicia, choking on his own selfishness as he forced himself not to reach towards her. Her son was barely clinging to life, and all he could think about was himself, about how he needed arms wrapped around him to keep his heart and guts from spilling out all over the waiting room floor. He’d hugged himself instead, and stayed out of their way as best as he could.)

But if he stayed here, he’d have to go back to his empty hotel room, where the nights were dark and the memories cut at him like glass. No matter how many blankets he used, he was always cold. This man was offering him an alternative: a fuck, maybe a cuddle if he was good. A moment to forget. 

“I’m fine, thanks,” he said, before he could change his mind. 

The girl quirked her lips at him sadly as he hurried off to get his things.

As they walked out the door, the man wrapped a possessive arm around Kent’s shoulder. Kent turned to study him under the glow of the streetlamps. He was handsome in a classic sort of way; he could have played the male lead in some Hallmark romcom where a widower rediscovered the meaning of Christmas. Away from the dim lighting of the club, Kent could see that he was middle-aged, probably twice Kent’s age and then some. He felt a flash of self-doubt. Was he really going to go home with a man old enough to be his father, while Jack was still locked up in a rehab facility? He might not wear Jack’s cuffs, but he was still his.

But Jack didn’t pick up when Kent called. He’d tried over and over, written letters, sent a package with Jack’s favourite snack foods, and in return he’d gotten radio silence. Kent knew that his dom was on the verge of getting out, and he still hadn’t heard a word from him.

The throb of misery in Kent’s heart worsened, and he shuddered involuntarily. The man’s arm tightened around his shoulder. 

“I’m Thomas, but you’ll be calling me sir,” the man said, and Kent let himself be pushed forward into the night.

\-----------------------------

“I live in Las Vegas,” Thomas said the next morning as he rubbed cream into the welts on Kent’s back. “But I’m here at least once a month. I’d love to see you again, the next time I’m in town.”

“I don’t live here either, sir,” Kent said, his throat raw and scratchy from the hangover and whatever they’d gotten up to last night. His recollections were hazy, but he remembered a blur of pleasure and pain and the joy of being held. For the first time in months, he’d slept through the night without a nightmare. “But I might be moving to Vegas pretty soon, actually.” 

Thomas’s smile lit up his whole face, and Kent’s lips reflexively twitched upwards in response. He hadn’t smiled since the overdose, and it felt like a betrayal. 

“Well, then, aren’t I a lucky guy?” 

“No, sir, I think I’m the lucky one,” Kent said, meaning every word of it. He felt like hell; the hangover had his stomach churning and his head pounding, and his whole body ached from the way Thomas had worked it over. But for the first time in weeks, he felt like he could breathe.

Thomas kissed him gently in response, and Kent gave himself permission to forget about Jack Zimmerman for a little while.


	2. Chapter One

It was a solid hockey trade, really.

The Aces needed to rebuild, and Kent’s contract wasn’t doing them any favours. He’d known, when they’d asked for his no-trade list, that he would be gone by the trade deadline. He knew-- the whole league knew-- what the asking price was. A promising young prospect, a first and a second, and an experienced defenseman, a solid veteran who could be a mentor to the mess that was the Aces’ current blueline. The Falconers hadn’t given up any prospects, and a first and a second had turned into a conditional first, but the final deal was a rare win-win for both teams. Mashkov was a Norris winner, a good locker room guy, and signed to a criminally team-friendly contract. But the Falconers had the defensive depth to pull through without him, whereas the previous year they’d been shut out three games in a row during the playoffs. They needed scoring. They needed Kent, and the fifty goals he’d scored the previous season.

He wondered if the Aces had thought that Providence would be a great place for him, with Snow there. He had never _told_ Aces management that he was a sub, but he hadn’t made much effort to hide it either. His teammates-- his former teammates, now, and that was a weird thought-- knew that he wasn’t a dom, of course. They saw him naked almost every day, his skin coloured with indiscrete bruises more often than not. They didn’t talk about it, but Kent knew from some of the uglier comments he heard on the ice that the gossip had spread a little. Snow probably had to deal with that too. Maybe they could talk about it. Kent snorted at himself. He had a hard time believing that he was going to find anything resembling a friend in the Falconers locker room.

He drummed his fingers nervously on his dashboard. He’d been sitting in the rental car for almost five minutes, and he really couldn’t afford to be late on his first day, but his legs were refusing to cooperate with him. The car was safe. There was no Jack Zimmerman in the car, looking at him with a cold distaste. No new teammates already predisposed to hate him. He sat, frozen, his breaths shallow and quick.

Why did it have to be fucking Providence? He could have dealt with anywhere else. Even winters in Winnipeg didn’t seem so bad in comparison.

_Sitting in the car is not going to help. Stop being a coward,_ he told himself firmly. His fingers shook as he pulled the door open. He was glad to have his bag to cling to as he entered his new practice arena for the very first time.

He had barely put a foot through the door when a young woman with a round friendly face and bouncing ringlets descended on him.

“You must be Kent!” she exclaimed. “I’m Laurie. I’ll be giving you the tour and introducing you to everyone!”

Kent forced himself to smile his photoshoot smile, the one that made women giggle and blush. Laurie proved to be made of sterner stuff, just grinning in return before dragging him off by the arm. She whisked him into room after room, rattling names off at a dizzying speed as he shook hands over and over again. There were trainers, doctors, equipment staff, massage therapists… dozens of people who Kent had known by name and life story in Vegas, but who blurred together into a whirl of new faces now. The biggest difference was that there were more women than he was used to seeing in a professional sports environment, and a few men that he assumed were subs based on demeanour or appearance. Even one of the assistant coaches was wearing wrist cuffs, something that Kent had never seen in juniors, let alone in the NHL.

Eventually, Laurie guided him into the head coach’s office. Kent liked Lewis Thompson immediately. He had a firm handshake and a kind smile, and was obviously excited to see Kent play. He didn’t actively posture at Kent like many of his previous coaches had, pushing dominant energy in a way that would be merely annoying for a dom but often left Kent shaken and unsettled.

“Well, the guys should be getting here any moment now so I’ll let you go get changed. We’ve got a lot of injuries right now, so we’ve been trying a lot of different things with the lines. We’ll get you playing with a few different guys, see what clicks.” Kent was expecting a comment about Jack, about their old chemistry, but it didn’t come. “You’re in a hotel right now? Someone from the team will reach out to help you with finding an apartment. Anything else you need, don’t be afraid to ask one of the guys, or anyone, really. Needless to say, we’re thrilled to have you.”

“Thank you, Coach,” Kent said, shaking his hand for the second time in as many minutes. “I’m excited to be here.”

Kent left the room in slightly higher spirits than he’d been in before. The Aces had brought in Rechner, the current head coach, a year ago, and there had been a tension between him and Kent since the first day. It would be a relief to play for a coach who seemed to genuinely like him, as long as he managed not to fuck it up.

“Hey, the locker room is this way!” Laurie said. “Oh, but wait, I’m supposed to make sure you have the contact details for everyone important. I have the list here, but I can just put them in your phone if you want?”

Kent shrugged a yes and looked over her shoulder as she tapped several names into his contacts.

_Nate (Nutritionist)_

_David (PR)_

_Smith (Lawyer)_

_Alan (Lawyer, ONLY IF IN JAIL)_

He laughed and thanked her.

“Well, you’d better get in there and meet the guys,” she said in her bubbly voice. “Let me know if there’s anything at all I can do for you!”

He found himself shamefully wanting to cling to her, to beg her to stay with him. Instead he forced himself to wave and take his first step into the Providence locker room.

\------------------------------

The first thing he noticed when he walked into the room was that Jack wasn’t there. He knew it in his bones even before confirming it by scanning every familiar and unfamiliar face. It should have been a relief, a grace period, but he knew that it was just prolonging the inevitable.

A chorus of greetings rang out, just a second too late. They were friendly enough, but not effusive in the way you might have expected from a team that struggled to put the puck in the net, welcoming last season’s Rocket Richard winner. Kent pasted on his least-threatening smile, and subjected his poor hand to another round of vigorous handshakes. On a surface level, the Falconers looked like every group of hockey guys that Kent had ever been surrounded by. The locker room was loud, full of brash banter and chirping.

He knew most of them by name, of course, and a few slightly better than that; from Team USA, or junior camps years ago, or a few drinks in a bar with a mutual acquaintance. There were no overlaps with his Aces tenure though, no potential allies in what was undeniably Jack’s space. It was impressive, really, to win over so many guys in just over a year. Jack tended to inspire that sort of loyalty in people.

“Parson! Admit it, you’re relieved you’ll be on this side of things, our next game against the Aces. That was a slaughter last week!” Edwards jeered. He was a tall redhead with a ruddy face, fully nude and laughing.

“Don’t tell me you’re trying to take credit for that, that was all Snow,” Kent responded easily, to boos and laughter.

“Did you guys know that Parson’s cat has an instagram account?” one of the younger guys called. His accent was noticeable, but much less pronounced than most of the Russian players Kent had met. “We should fine him for this, yes?”

“No fines on the first day,” St. Martin said sternly. He must have been the fine master, because everyone seemed to take his word as law.

“Bro, you would fit right in with the WAGs, Guy’s wife has separate accounts for each of his thousand different dogs, even the fuck-ugly ones--”

“Shut the fuck up, my dogs are all gorgeous.”

Kent laughed along with the others and started to strip down. He expected a few chirps about his frame or his dick size, but the discussion had turned towards how Mashkov would get by in Las Vegas without his favourite 24-hour pho restaurant, somewhere that he had apparently eaten three times a week since coming to Providence. Kent was in the middle of fastening his shin guards when Jack walked in.

It wasn’t as if a hush settled over the room. Kent wasn’t sure he’d ever really heard a hush in an NHL locker room, except maybe during the agonizing moments after the Aces had blown a 3-0 lead in a playoff game. But a tension entered the air, eyes flicking between Jack and Kent even as guys continued to joke and chirp each other. A few people called out greetings, which Jack returned brusquely.

He walked up to Kent and extended his hand. Kent stared blankly for a moment before forcing himself to reach out and shake it. Jack Zimmerman, alive and breathing, the last of his baby fat melted away and a new maturity in his steady gaze-- it was too much to handle for anyone, really.

“Good to have you, Parson,” he said.

It had been so long since he had felt Jack’s touch. His hand was warm and soft. Kent didn’t trust his voice, so he just smiled and nodded in return. Jack looked at him for a moment before turning away and greeting his friends.

He didn’t look at Kent again, not in the locker room or on the ice. There always seemed to be someone between them when Kent’s gaze was pulled towards him, usually St. Martin or the French-Canadian defenseman whose name Kent hadn’t learned yet. St. Martin caught him staring once, and his answering glare was so frostily judgemental that Kent dedicated himself to keeping his eyes on his feet instead.

Later, alone in his hotel room and desperately missing Kit, Kent thought that things could have gone a lot worse. So what if he was Parson, now? So what if Jack clearly couldn’t stand the sight of him? So what if his new teammates already mistrusted him on principle? He had done this to himself, after all; Jack had every reason to hate him.

The itch to get out of his own head was almost overwhelming, but he had never been any good at self-soothing. It felt unnatural to him, trying to submit without anyone there to submit to. That had frustrated Jack. At the time, Kent had felt embarrassed and rejected when Jack hadn’t wanted to scene with him. Looking back on it with adult eyes, he knew that Jack had been dealing with his own demons, struggling just to keep his head above water without the additional pressure of a needy sub constantly demanding his attention. And Kent had been too wrapped up in himself to see it. The stab of guilt and self-recrimination was familiar. He’d spent many sleepless nights reflecting on his many failures when it came to Jack Zimmerman, and he knew it was something that would haunt him forever, wondering if something he had done had been the last straw.

And now Kent would have to see him every day, and see the cool indifference in his eyes, and listen to the carefully masked dislike in his voice when he was forced to speak to him.

Kent got Thomas’s voicemail three times before he gave up and decided to just go to bed. The hotel bed was cold and empty. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend that he was just on a road trip, that in a few nights he would be back home with his dominant; that just down the hall were guys who would slap him on the back and invite him to play chel.

Still, all things considered, he thought he could be forgiven for crying himself to sleep.

\------------------------------

The following week went by in a blur. His first few games went well. He mostly played with Briggsy, a shy 19-year-old center who could barely make eye contact with him except on the ice; Thompson cycled through what felt like every winger on the team on their left wing before mostling settling for Thirdy. Kent was just relieved not to be playing with Jack, even if it meant he wasn’t technically on the first line. It was nice to have an excuse to hover around Thirdy, who had a calm dominant presence that helped ease some of the shock of being suddenly separated from Thomas.

The dynamic in the Falcs room was different than he was used to, which he mostly chalked up to Snow’s presence. He hadn’t been particularly bothered by the Aces’ chirping each other about acting gay or subby. They didn’t mean anything by it, and it was nothing he hadn’t heard every day of his life. But the Falcs were so politically correct that Kent found himself looking around, sometimes, for a hidden film crew. It was bizarre, but not unwelcome.

He didn’t talk to Jack, but he watched him out of the corner of his eye. Jack was comfortable with this team in a way that Kent had never seen him before. He laughed and joked with everyone, and was kind and patient with the rookies. Kent even overheard him telling Briggsy not to push himself too hard, and had to stop himself from gawking openly. Kent was pretty sure that he was seeing someone; probably a perfectly behaved sub who was able to give him exactly what he needed. Someone who eased his anxiety instead of making it worse. Maybe even a girl, someone he could talk to the team about. Kent tried not to think about what Thomas would say if he knew how invested Kent still was in his ex’s love life.

The Falcs had the weekend off after a back-to-back where both games went to OT. Kent scored his first goal for his new team in the second game, putting it top shelf on a breakaway to win the game. He should have been giddy, but his overwhelming emotion was weary relief. Things might never be normal with his new teammates, but at least he could still produce.

St. Martin-- Marty, Kent corrected himself-- cornered him in the locker room later. “You didn’t respond to the group chat,” he said. “Barbeque at mine on Sunday. Bring beer.”

“I don’t think I’m in a group chat yet?” Kent responded sheepishly, his face flushing slightly. “If you want to send me your address though, I’ll be there for sure.”

A minute later, Marty got him added on Facebook and into the team chat. He seemed a bit chagrined, and Kent was willing to bet that he was usually the one in charge of making sure new guys were looked after. Kent would have been okay with slipping through the cracks for a while longer. The last thing he needed was to spend one of his few precious days of freedom making awkward small talk with a team that still felt like strangers.

Nevertheless, Sunday afternoon found him in Marty’s driveway, nervously clutching a case of expensive beer. In Vegas, he had been an honorary host for these types of events; his condo wasn’t big enough for the whole team, but he would show up early to help prep. He’d been good at herding children and drunk rookies alike, breaking up squabbles between youthful doms before they could really get going.

He could hear the team in the backyard, and he wasn’t sure whether to ring the doorbell or just let himself through the gate. Before he could make a decision, a car pulled up, and he hastily pulled out his phone to make it look like he was sending a text instead of awkwardly hovering in his teammate’s driveway. The car door opened to reveal Snow and a stunning blonde woman.

“Parser, this is my wife and domme, Leanne,” Snowy said.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Kent said, resisting the urge to drop his gaze submissively towards the ground. Leanne’s dynamic energy was strong.

Back on the Aces, Hudsy would occasionally go onto rants about dommes who bit off more than they could chew. “It’s not that I’m a misogynist,” he had said once, “But there’s a reason why most men are dominant and most women are submissive. Women just aren’t strong enough to handle subs the way they need to be handled, and that’s a fact.” Some of the guys would boo or roll their eyes, while others would agree. Kent would love to see the look on Hudsy’s face if he ever met Snow’s wife, because he was willing to bet that she could put every single dom in that locker room on his knees if she put the force of her will into it.

Kent trailed the pair into the house, Snowy pulling the door open without ringing the bell. He led them through into the kitchen, where Marty was gathering grilling supplies.

“You guys are right on time, I’m going to get the grill going in a minute here,” he said jovially. “Here, Parser, get your beer in the fridge and help me carry some of this stuff.”

Cooperating with the simple instruction settled some of Kent’s nervous energy. He and Marty made their way outside into the fray, where a gaggle of children were running wild as their parents sat around laughing and drinking beer. Kent came perilously close to tripping over a toddler, who just giggled and ran away.

“We’ve got lots of food, and then of course Zimmboni’s boyfriend brought dessert,” Marty said faux-casually as they walked.

Kent’s chest lurched so forcefully that he thought for a moment his heart had stopped.

“What?” he blurted out reflexively.

“His boyfriend, he’s really into baking.” Marty’s tone was a little sharp now.

Jack’s boyfriend. His _boyfriend_ , who he’d told the team about. Everyone except Kent, who apparently didn’t merit even a courtesy text warning him he would be meeting his ex’s new sub today.

“Parser?” Marty said, and Kent realized he had been trying to get his attention for a few seconds. “That won’t be a problem, will it?”

“Of course not,” Kent responded out in a high-pitched voice. “No problem at all.”

Marty eyed him suspiciously, and Kent could feel the distance between himself and the Falcs growing with every passing moment of awkwardness. Should he mention his own boyfriend? That would just make it obvious that he and Jack had been involved, and besides, he didn’t know if he wanted to out himself to the team just yet. But he didn’t want to be known as a homophobe either.

Luckily, Marty was distracted by getting the grill set up, and Kent was soon being introduced to the various wives and girlfriends and children. He spent a few minutes kicking a soccer ball with some of the kids, resolutely not looking towards the other side of the yard where he could occasionally make out a Quebecois accent amidst the babble.

He went back to the kitchen for another beer just to have something to do, and stood there for a few minutes just trying to calm himself down. It was too much. Meeting so many new people, the awkwardness of trying to fit in with the team, Jack’s new sub... He contemplated faking sick and leaving, but that would just make everything worse. He had to stick it out for at least a couple hours. He popped the cap off of his beer just as Marty’s wife Tara walked into the room.

“Kent!” she said warmly. “I hope you’re not hiding in here, I know it’s pretty crazy out there.”

He smiled awkwardly and held up his beer. “Just getting a refill,” he said.

“There’s a cooler outside as well, but Seb’s probably filled it with the cheap shit,” she said. Her gaze was uncomfortably sharp. “He’s always trying to hide the good stuff y’all bring for himself.”

“Well, I can’t blame him for trying to get something out of this whole hosting thing. It’s a pretty thankless job,” Kent said, and Tara laughed. “If you need any help with clean up afterwards, I’m happy to stay.” He wasn’t above sucking up.

“Oh, we’ve got it down to a science now, don’t worry about it. How are you doing? You were in Vegas for a long time, it must be weird to suddenly find yourself somewhere else.”

He took a long sip of beer to delay answering. “It’s been good so far,” he lied. “I mean, obviously it’s pretty weird leaving the team I’ve been with since I was eighteen… But all the guys are great, and I’m excited to be here.”

“Now that’s a PR answer if I’ve ever heard one,” she said dryly.

Before he was forced to come up with a response to that, two more people walked into the kitchen. Kent looked at them and felt his stomach drop. There was a split second when he considered fleeing altogether, but then he realized how suspicious that would look to Tara.

“Eric!” she exclaimed happily. “I’m so excited to try that peach-blueberry pie, I almost stole a slice before we’ve even gotten the burgers out!”

Eric was short, blond, vaguely familiar, and fucking adorable. Kent knew he was attractive, but most male doms didn’t care for his muscular strength; nobody liked being emasculated by their sub. Eric, on the other hand, looked a sub straight out of a gay porno. Cute, perky, easy to manhandle. And currently glaring daggers at Kent.

Jack awkwardly cleared his throat.

“Uh, this is Eric Bittle, my boyfriend. Bitty, this is Kent Parson, my new teammate.”

“We’ve met,” Bittle said coldly. “How perfectly lovely to see you again, Parson.”

And Kent was wrong, so wrong, because Bittle wasn’t any kind of submissive at all.

The dominant aura billowing around Bittle at that moment was so intense that Kent stumbled a little as he fought the urge to drop to his knees and apologize for offending him. He wasn’t able to stop himself from lowering his gaze and dropping his head submissively. He could hear Jack sigh as Kent struggled to think clearly, to find words that wouldn’t get him in trouble.

“Bits,” Jack said warningly.

Tara rested her hand lightly on Kent’s shoulder, grounding him. He forced himself to look up again. Bittle was looking at Jack, a half-sheepish, half-stubborn look on his face. Jack’s eyes were on Kent.

“Uh… Nice to meet you, um, again I guess,” Kent finally managed, his tongue clumsy. “I’m going to… bathroom?”

“Second door on the left,” Tara answered. She was glaring at Bittle a little bit, and Kent felt bad. It was true that that sort of dynamic display was horrible manners, but if she knew the history… she would probably feel differently.

He tried to gather some of his dignity and walk calmly away, but his steps were wobbly in spite of his best efforts as he made his way out of the room, closing his ears to the babble of angry whispers that exploded behind him.

Like the rest of the house, the bathroom was large and impeccably decorated. There was a tasteful rug in front of the sink that looked like it would be soft to kneel on. He thought about it, for a second, just letting himself fall under for a few minutes-- but there was no guarantee that he would be able to bring himself back up, and he couldn’t imagine anything more embarrassing than his new teammates banging on the door of the bathroom and eventually discovering him wallowing in subspace after a bit of posturing from his ex’s new boyfriend. Instead, he splashed cold water on his face, pushing away any stray thoughts about finding Bittle and showing him that he could be good.

After a moment, the fog over his brain started to clear, and he fought back a wave of irrational tears. Jack’s boyfriend was a dom. Were they homodynamic? Or was Jack actually a switch, or even a sub? He thought back. Jack had always been wound so tight. Kent had thought that scening helped. He had thought that he was good for Jack, that they loved each other, that it meant something. What kind of boyfriend had he been, that he hadn’t even noticed that Jack needed something that Kent wasn’t giving him?

This wasn’t the place to process any of this. He needed to put on a brave face and go out and do his best to make his new teammates not hate him. It was probably a lost cause, given that Jack had an A and clearly wanted nothing to do with him, but he had to make an effort. He made himself think about Kit for a minute, going over the list of things he needed to do with his empty apartment before she arrived next week.

Finally, he pulled open the door and walked straight into Jack.

He yelped and leaped backwards, and Jack cursed in French. “Sorry, sorry,” he said. “I just wanted to… I’m sorry. About Bitty. He wasn’t trying to force you down or anything, he didn’t even know that you were a sub. He feels bad.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Kent said, a little wobble in his voice.

“I think it’s best if we just try to keep, uh, personal interactions to a minimum,” Jack said awkwardly. “We’re not on the same line, there’s no reason for us to talk much.”

“Sounds great. You should get back to your boyfriend,” Kent responded, trying not to feel like Jack was shredding his heart into a million pieces all over again. “Good talk.”

There was a long, awkward moment where Jack stared at him and Kent stared back. In spite of all of his added bulk and better haircut, he still looked so much like the teenage boy that Kent had fallen in love with. Kent looked down at the floor, and moments later, he was alone.

The rest of the party passed in a haze. Kent avoided the delicious-looking array of pies and sweets. Tara cast him concerned glances whenever he was in eyeshot, and he tried to muster a casual smile, but otherwise he stayed quiet and kept his head down. When the first few couples started to trickle out, he was quick to take his cue, bidding an awkward goodbye to Marty and Tara and slipping away with the overwhelming feeling that no one was going to notice his absence.

\------------------------------

He found himself back at the barren apartment he had moved into three days ago. It was enormous and expensive, but empty. If he were single, he would go out, find a dom with a nice smile to take him out of his head for a while. He loved Thomas, he really did, but he missed what they used to have. Back when Thomas had been pleased with his submission more often than not, when there had often been rewards and laughter and pleasure. It seemed like Kent rarely got things right, nowadays. Still, if he could have teleported Thomas into the room, he would have. Kent wasn’t the sort of sub to find much pleasure in a hard punishment, but he could take it. It was a small price to pay for his dom’s attention and focus.

He was just _lonely_ , in a gut-wrenching way that tore at his heart and gave rise to an animal instinct to curl up in a den and emerge when he was whole again.

It was barely even evening yet, but he changed into his pyjamas anyways and laid down in bed. He wanted to cry, but the tears didn’t come. Eventually, he grabbed his phone and called Thomas.

They had only spoken twice, briefly, since he’d gotten to Providence. Kent hadn’t really known what to say to him. Thomas had picked up some hockey knowledge over the years, but wasn’t a huge fan. It was usually a relief for Kent, knowing that he wasn’t going to come home from a brutal game to a dom who was angry at him for losing. But with his life consisting mostly of practice, games, and moping around first an empty hotel room and then an empty apartment, he and Thomas had had precious little to talk about.

“Hey, baby,” came his dom’s voice after a few rings.

“Thomas.” Kent’s voice was tremulous. “I… how are you? How is Kit?”

“The cat is fine. I’m dropping her off with the service tomorrow, they said she’ll be with you by Wednesday. I landed a big deal today, so the boss is happy with me. Not a bad day, overall. What about you, baby? You sound upset.”

“It’s… It’s been a tough day,” Kent answered finally. He could already feel some of the desperation melting away at the sound of his dom’s cheerful words. “There was a team barbeque earlier, and I had a bit of a run-in with Jack, and… It’s just been really hard. I wish you were here.”

“You know I can’t just abandon my job like that,” Thomas answered a little snappishly.

“No, no, I know. I wouldn’t expect you to. I just miss you, that’s all.” Kent’s voice was thick.

“I miss you too, baby. If I were there, I would make you forget all about Zimmerman.”

Kent found himself cringing a little at the suggestive tone. Part of him childishly wished that Thomas would try to comfort him instead, but he shook off the thought. It was nice to know that he was still wanted.

“I would be begging to get on my knees for you, sir,” he answered.

He delivered his lines somewhat automatically as Thomas’s breathing got heavy and he talked his dominant through an orgasm. It was a familiar routine after years of road trips and Thomas’s work trips. His own dick stayed stubbornly soft. After hanging up, he stared at the ceiling for a long time, and promised himself that he would stay well away from Jack Zimmerman and Eric Bittle.


End file.
